


Broken Crown

by esooM



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: King! AU, i don't really know how to tag this one I guess..., it gets kind of dark and evil?, people die but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esooM/pseuds/esooM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*DISCONTINUED*Five obsidian cubes, five competitors all tearing each other apart for one petty crown to wear atop their bloody hair and pretend for a while that nobody can see the cracks in the gold, feel the void slipping in through the tears in their flesh. But it's oh such a pretty crown isn't it? Surely worth all of this bloodshed between friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 3 weeks later and I'm finally back. Here's a new chapter for you as promised. Enjoy. xx

Broken Crown  
Chapter One  
Wine ran like rivers in the throne room of the king as jug after jug of the rich, spicy fluid were brought to the man sprawled comfortably in the grand, golden throne set against the back of the room. All the better to be seen by all who crossed the threshold of those double doors to lay their gaze upon it.

With every drop of wine brought forth the king’s laughter grew louder and higher, his cheeks flushed as red as the padded cushions beneath him and his crown was tipped askew atop his dark hair. Yet nobody had the heart to tell him or cared all too much as his laughter seemed to echo through the entire kingdom, bringing smiles to the people everywhere as they moved throughout the brightly coloured streets.

Amongst the people the upbeat air in the throne room was matched as musicians lined the streets and stalls filled every corner, selling small toys or sweet treats to small children waving wooden swords or streamers of the brightest green; the colour of the kingdom. Dancers twisted and twirled with flowers woven into their hair and jesters with bells jingling on their feet juggled tiny rainbow balls. 

One such jester had caught the eye of several passer bys as he skillfully tossed knives up into the air and span on the tips of his toes only to continue to juggle them without halting, his face alight with the act as he took in the overjoyed faces of the onlookers. 

He threw the knives extra high as he reached the end of his pirouette to take the time to procure a small flower from his sleeve for the smallest girl at the front of the group. She took it shyly before shifting her gaze to gasp as the knives began to fall back to the unprepared jester. He winked at her cheerily before straightening back up just as the knives seemed sure to hit him, earning several horrified looks from parents and children alike.

But the jester was not cut apart by the falling blades as instead they began to glow bright as the sun and burst into explosions of fiery colour all around him, staining his once pristine green jester’s uniform all of the colours of the rainbow. The crowd gaped at the now atrociously bright man that stood for them to inspect before erupting into applause and laughter. The jester beamed brightly at them all before bowing deeply. As he did so his hat fell from his butterscotch locks and a dove flew out from under it, only making the applause grow in enthusiasm.

“Thankyou!” the jester called happily over the gathered crowd. He recovered his fallen hat with a soft tinkle and placed it back on its rightful place where a crown would live for a royal and raised a hand for quiet, “now I would hope to direct you all back to the main festivities. It would appear that a brief sparring match between some of our finest warriors is about to commence.”

The people were quick to hurry away from him at these words and hurry to where the small arena had been erected in the center of the town square, tugging at each other in their hurry to gather around it. As the jester watched several well muscled giants of men began to file into the arena, waving and flashing their bulging arms at the cheering citizens cockily. 

One small boy remained behind to stare up at the jester before asking, “will your friends be out there?”

The jester blinked at the boy in confusion before crouching down and ruffling his hair lightly, “no I’m afraid not. They’re both too busy defending the king and it wouldn’t really be much of a fight if they were allowed in there would it?”

The boy pouted, “they could always fight each other.”

The jester’s hand paused through the boy’s hair and he shuddered at the idea, “no… I don’t think that would end very well…” It hadn’t before. “Besides!” he poked the boy’s sides, making him giggle, “you’re missing the show! Instead of wishing for someone else go and watch the warriors we do have!”

The boy nodded and had started to run to join the crowd when he turned back and called, “but make sure you get them to fight next year, ok?”

The jester smiled after the boy with a brief nod and a wave before he was lost amongst the crowd in search of his parents and the jester was left alone, still splattered with every shade of the rainbow. 

“Gavin!” a voice called out and he turned to face it, his smile growing even wider as he spotted the newcomer.

“Jack!” he called back, hurrying to greet the bearded man. His smile faltered however when he saw the grim face that the other man wore, “what is it?”

Jack frowned and shook his head at the jester, “not here Gavin. Geoff expected you back hours ago!”

“I’ll bet he barely even noticed I was gone,” Gavin shot back, following the bearded man all the same.

He hurried to keep up with Jack’s giant strides, having to take three for each of the other’s one, the bells on his shoes and hat jingling chaotically as he moved, drawing curious eyes from passers by as many recognised Jack. It was impossible to be the king’s personal blacksmith without gaining some level of fame amongst the people after all.

They rounded a corner and the castle loomed before them, the green banners of the Ramsey household flapping wildly in the wind as they made their way to the giant iron gates. They were greeted by a man posted there dressed all in thick furs with wild auburn curls and a wicked grin to match as he greeted the two men as old friends.

“What the hell happened to you?” Michael asked, eyeing Gavin’s colour splattered clothes.

“It’s my newest routine,” Gavin told him enthusiastically as Jack signalled for the gate to be opened to allow them in, “Let me show you!”

“Well go on then,” Michael snickered, adjusting the great diamond broadsword strapped to his back.

Gavin was quick to raise his hands at the ready, fingers wiggling playful, making the warrior boy laugh lightly behind a calloused hand. He could feel the heat tingling beneath the skin of his hands and was about to summon a spark when he was interrupted.

“Gavin,” Jack called, gesturing for the jester to join him.

“Some other time then?” Michael shrugged, leaning back against the wall where he had been.

Gavin sighed and was quick to rejoin the blacksmith as they made their way through the giant gates and up the path and onto the clean marble beyond the castle doors. They walked down hallways and up twisting flights of stairs, the only thing breaking the constant silence between the pair being the steady echoing of Jack’s heavy footfalls and Gavin’s cheery jingling. As they grew closer to the throne room the sound of their king’s laughter and upbeat music steadily began to grow until it overpowered any other sound as Jack threw open the doors.

Geoff didn’t falter in his gusto at the sight of the newcomers but rather shifted his laughter to a cheer as he rose a wine glass in their direction.

“Jack!” he called, hiccuping on the word, “Gavvy my boy! So glad to see you both! Come! Come! Sit!”

Gavin didn’t need to be asked twice and left Jack in the doorway to instead join the man with a mop of dark hair and a great scar running jaggedly through the flesh down the right side of his face and over both eyes, leaving the right milky white through the iris and the pupil and the left smattered through with the same colour framed with red from whatever past wound had marked him. He had a thin hooded cloak of the deepest red pooling around where he sat at at the bottom step of the throne, good naturedly attempting to conceal his laughter at the king’s antics behind his hand. He smiled at the sight of the jester and patted the spot beside him by means of an invitation.

“Why do you look like a unicorn threw up on you?” the knight asked, pointing at the kaleidoscope of colour that was Gavin’s clothing.

“A new performance,” Gavin answered simply if not with a hint of pride, “I’m really getting awfully good at it too. You’d be impressed Ray!”

Ray raised an eyebrow at his friend but his retort was interrupted by the arrival of another man, holding out a tray of food for Gavin to accept. 

Gavin took it gratefully and smiled up at the weary advisor, “thanks Rye-bread!”

Ryan sighed and sat alongside the younger two, sweeping his sandy locks out of his face limply and resting against the steps. The man looked about ready to pass out then and there.

“Rough day?” Gavin asked through a mouthful of food.

“It’ll all be over soon,” Ryan muttered in response, hands clutching at his aching head, “I’m just glad the king only has a birthday once a year. I couldn’t imagine dealing with all of this more than once a year.”

“You agreed to the job,” Ray reminded him with a shrug, “besides,” he glanced fondly back at the king, “there are worse people to serve under. At least we only got a drunk. We could have gotten a murderer.”

“Geoff I really need to talk to you,” Jack called as the king continued to drink and eat merrily, his attention entirely drawn by the musicians playing for him, “it’s important.”

“Jack today is not the day for important things,” Geoff answered him, pointing with a chicken wing, “today is for wine and food and good music and to be merry with good friends.”

“Geoff…” Jack began again, wringing his hands in agitation, “I really do believe…”

“Jack why do you always have to be such a baby?” 

The blacksmith turned to face Michael as he entered the room, grinning and holding a fresh jug of wine and several wine glasses. Geoff cheered at the sight but the warrior shook his head at the drunken man teasingly.

“I think you’ve had plenty enough my liege,” he snickered, “this one is for us lowly lads.”

Michael patted Jack on the arm as he walked by him with an uneven spring in his step to join the other three at the base of the throne, handing off the jug and glasses for Gavin to attend to as he instead diverted his attention to Ryan.

“The gates are clear, nobody would dare attack the king, especially not today.” he reported, “The people all love him too much right now with all of the effort he’s put into this festival.”

“Right…” Ryan began with an irritation, “It was all his effort. None of it was mine at all.”

“Geoff,” Jack tried again, scowling now, “I really...”

“Jack that’s enough of that,” Geoff silenced him again.

“Please…” the blacksmith’s worn hands were clenched into fists now, “I really…”

“Jack!” the king cut him off with a wave of his hand, “come and eat. We all know how much you like to do that. There’s plenty of wine and chicken and plenty of pie. Now you and I both know how much you love…”

“Geoff!” Jack cut him off with a shriek, glaring up at the other man, “this is important.”

The music faltered and faded with the king’s smile and Geoff waved for the ensemble to be excused, leaving only the six men in the room, waiting for Jack to explain himself.

“I had a vision,” the bearded man explained, “a vision with all of you. There was blood… and… and death… and…” he took a deep breath to try and calm himself before continuing, “some citizens aren’t happy at the moment, some are even talking about starting a rebellion.”

“Why the fuck would they do that?” Michael snorted, “this is the longest era of peace the nation has ever seen. Who would want to end that?”

“There are extremists throughout the land,” Jack sighed, pinching his nose, “many aren’t happy about Geoff’s disregard of certain… rituals that previous king’s uphold. Many are blaming that as the reason that the mob spawns have grown so frequent, why more and more livestock are dying and why rain has been gone for so long.”

Geoff wasn’t laughing anymore, not even a smile lingered where before it had been engraved into the skin of his cheeks. Only the lines and marks of a much older man remained as he lowered his wine glass grimly to survey the blacksmith.

“What rituals?” Gavin asked cheerily, missing the change of mood.

“People don’t care about those stupid old things anymore though,” Ryan argued, turning to face his king, “Right Geoff?”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed gallantly, “they’re nothing more than old superstitions.” 

Even as the other’s spoke Geoff’s eyes never once left Jack, his heavy lidded ones boring into the blacksmith’s wide brown ones intently searching for any trace of a lie. 

“Are you sure Jack?” he asked.

Jack nodded glumly, “I haven’t been wrong before have I? I can only hope that this time you fools will listen to me.”

“But what rituals?” Gavin asked again, urgently this time, “What are you bloody on about?”

The others all turned to him and Ray patted his arm sympathetically.

“You wouldn’t know,” he explained slowly, as if speaking to a small child, “it was before you lived here in the kingdom. We used to learn about it at school.”

“It was said,” Jack took over, “that a king had to prove the legitimacy of their title every year by taking part in a… ceremony… many would say sacrifice. It is said that these sacrifices… seal his rightful place as the ruler of the kingdom and… keep the portals closed throughout the land.” He paused when he saw Gavin’s horrified face and was desperate to retrieve the bright mood he had darkened, “It’s all a load of nonsense though, don’t worry. It’s just… the people are worried… and the portals have begun to open again… we can’t have them all opening again Geoff. We aren’t prepared to deal with the creatures the nether springs forth again… we lost too many men the last time...”

The silence grew heavy as they all felt the memory slither down their spine like venomous snakes. Geoff continued to stare down at his blacksmith long after he had finished talking till he got to his feet abruptly.

“Right!” he yelled with a clap of his hands, “the people get what the people get.”

Jack’s jaw dropped in horror at this sudden burst of spontaneous activity and he could only gape after the king as he walked over to the stretch of wall to the right of the door that nobody had possessed the courage to fill for years; ready to fill it. He cracked his knuckles in preparation before running his hands over the bricks, tracing the pattern he had been taught so many times by his father and his father had been taught by his own. Nothing was more important to the Ramsey family than this.

Geoff’s hand fell away and the wall along with them, sliding and crumbling into the floor to reveal what had been imprisoned for so long. Five blocks of obsidian, neatly molded to the floor and beautifully engraved with intricate magic seals and sigils milleniums older than the kingdom. They had been there long before the kingdom stood and would remain long after the kingdom fell, of that much all were sure. 

The king wandered over to them and let his hands rest upon their smooth and shiny midnight black surface. Despite their years of refuse not a speck of dust or fleck of grime disturbed their shadowy surface and as his fingers ran along their tops Geoff could feel the low hum of wicked power that sang within their crystalline depths.

“Geoff you can’t be serious!” Michael yelled after him.

The king turned back to face his men with a dark smile. They were all on their feet now, staring at him in horror? Confusion? Fear? He couldn’t tell but across each face was that same instinctual desire to survive, and what he was about to do next could not confirm that they would all walk out of this throne room alive once it was done.

“You know who it will choose.” Jack mumbled, his mouth dry.

Geoff turned to face them without a word and they all knew the answer.

“You’re going to do this to us?” Ryan asked darkly, refusing to meet his king’s eye, “After everything?”

“You have no choice,” Geoff growled, “as of right now I am still your king and my rule is absolute. I could have you hung if you tried to refuse.”

“You wouldn’t though,” Gavin reassured him.

Geoff sighed, “no I wouldn’t… I couldn’t… you five are my dearest subjects… no, friends. And I need you now more than ever. I would be honored to hand down my crown to any of you.”

The five remained silent, knowing that there was nothing they could do to change his mind as he turned back to the stones and raised his hands. As he did the obsidian began to glow.

“Let my word as king be absolute,” he began, “let these choices be known and let their names adorn this place until the point whence the rightful king is discovered.”

There was a flash of light along the wall above the obsidian and the king lowered his hands to survey his handiwork. Carved into the wall above each block were their names. In order from Ryan, Jack, Michael, Ray and Gavin they were all there and none of them knew how to react. 

Their king had just signed their deaths.

“When do we began?” Michael croaked breathlessly.

“Tomorrow,” Geoff grumbled, looking away from the obsidian as if it had burned him, “I have to address the people first. They need to know what’s about to happen here. You are all dismissed for now.” He paused on his path away from them before turning back to whisper, “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you all, I truly am. This is a burden that none should have to bear.”

“But you still made us bear it,” Michael reminded him bitterly, “that’s not something that’s easily forgiven.”

Their king continued on to the great balcony overlooking the city without a word and they heard him calling for his people as they left the throne room together in silence. Ryan was first to leave as his room was closest, wishing them all a good night even though they knew such a thing was impossible and letting them continue on through the castle. Jack abandoned them by the blacksmithery, saying he was too restless to relax and needed to work on something for the next day.

This left the three youngest lads walking shoulder to shoulder, each too caught up in their own thoughts to bother pursuing their usual light hearted conversation.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Gavin asked, his voice much smaller than usual, “Jack and Geoff said something about a ritual but… what does that mean? Are we really going to die?”

Michael wrapped an arm around him comfortingly before answering, “yes. But not really. We’ll wake up again but it’s still going to suck.”

“What does that mean?” Gavin squawked, even more confused.

“They’ll carve a sigil into our wrist,” Ray began, “it’s a dark form of necromancer magic that prevents death, or well… permanent death. Whether or not we come back is up to us.”

“What will happen if we die?” Gavin whimpered, “Why would we die? Nothing you’re saying is making any sense.”

Ray sighed, “basically what’s about to happen to us is a series of tasks, challenges, events, whatever the fuck you want to call them. These tasks are almost guaranteed to kill us. It’ll either be a case of last man standing or first to complete some goal. But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is who dies last. Every time somebody else that has been marked dies, every other participant gets a block of gold on their obsidian. Or whenever someone completes whatever task we are assigned they automatically get all four. The one that ends up with four…” he shook his head grimly, “either they have to fight the king or they don’t. None of this is really set in stone Gav… but if there is a fight… whoever wins…”

“Becomes the new king,” Michael finished for him, “that’s the way things used to be for years. The king chooses the five closest to him and they all fight over the crown. It’s fucking stupid. I was hoping Geoff would stop these old traditions but I guess there are only so many things a king can do.”

“This has happened before?” Gavin squeaked.

Michael and Ray exchanged looks before the latter answered him, “they happened for years and years before you came to the kingdom. Every year at the beginning of the summer harvest in fact. Geoff only went through three before he stopped them.”

“Why?”

“He lost someone very important to him,” Michael answered, pulling Gavin tighter against him.

They walked on further without a word, Michael releasing Gavin so they could walk more easily. Guards lining the walls as they walked nodded to them solemnly. Apparently news of their impending fate had spread quickly throughout the kingdom and these guards were taking their last chances to bid these men farewell.

The trio reached the guards quarters eventually and knowing that this mean they would have to leave each other, faltered, unsure of what to say to one another. But Gavin had to break the silence, something was still weighing heavily on his mind.

“You said…” he gulped, “you said there’s a chance that we might not come back. So does that mean we could die… permanently?”

“No,” Ray answered firmly, shocking both lads, “I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you two die.”

“You can’t promise that Ray,” Michael laughed humorlessly.

“I know I can’t,” Ray shrugged, “but I can at least try.”

He turned and left the other two. Not long after they separated as well to their own separate rooms. They all needed their sleep now more than ever, this much at least was certain.

***

The atmosphere of the throne room early the next morning was thick, almost tangible as they awaited their king’s order, all stood in a neat little line as perfect toy soldiers. Nobody was smiling and the relaxed appearance of their past days had left them all, making them stand up straighter and stiffer, with fear or with determination it wasn’t entirely clear. 

Ryan’s usual primp and proper advisor’s uniform was replaced by armour and a diamond sword hung at his hip. Edgar felt strange there after he hadn’t carried it in so long but it set his resolve, he wasn’t in peace time anymore. He had to constantly remind himself of this as his hands kept finding itself resting upon the hilt, he wasn’t a simple advisor anymore and his muscles still remembered how to fight. It was his body he would rely upon now, not his mind.

Jack had done the same, his blacksmith’s uniform of thick fire protective leather had been adorned with thicker iron armor and he held an iron axe in both hands, his knuckles white on it’s icy metal surface. He had been up all night forging it and even now the runes he had engraved along it held a faint glow. He was no expert on runes by any means but he had done what little he could with the tools he had at his disposal, now he could only hope that it had been enough.

Gavin didn’t own armour and couldn’t make any. He hadn’t dared ask Jack as he knew that the blacksmith was already too busy making his own arrangements for the day and nobody else would bother fashioning armour for a simple jester. So instead he had shed his jester’s uniform for a simple set of clothes with worn boots. With a quiver of arrows over his back and a bow in his hand, he had wrapped himself in a scarf of the deepest mottled green. The creeper skin garment at least reminded him of what he so often forgot when his feet constantly jingled with bells: he was a warrior too.

Though this creeper skin wouldn’t protect him in a battle like Ray’s void black enderman armour would. It wasn’t many that could kill such a beast, they were powerful and could teleport from place to place around an attacker, leaving them open for their thin black talons to slide between flesh. For this at least the knight was perfectly suited. His obsidian rapier was a constant at his waist so he felt less unsure of his own ability as he stood with the others. All he had to fret about was the blindspot that his milky white eye gave him and the thick dark haze the other left, leaving his right side an invisible splodge of black and the rest of the world dark as if hidden by a shadowy mist. He was so used to having someone there to keep an eye on the fog for him.

Mogar was firm and solid against Michael’s spine as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his fellows. He too hadn’t changed his garments, not needing the armor the rest were decked out in, instead wearing the typical furs he had killed for himself, the garment cutting off at his shoulders to leave his strong, muscled arms free to the air. Armour would only restrict the wide swing of his arms and he needed all of the force he could get with the limited movement his left leg gave him. He had to be prepared to brawl with more determination than he had in years. He would be missing his legs where they were going.

Geoff stood before them all, his crown in place and his thick green royal coat swishing behind him as he left his throne to stand before his closest friends. Only there were no smiles between them as they all stared at their king, ready for him to decide what their fate was to be. 

He stood before the first in line, Jack, and held out his hand expectantly. The blacksmith understood and held out his hand, offering his wrist to the king. Geoff took a firm hold on the blacksmith and held it up close to his mouth, blowing lightly on the exposed flesh. He released the man and they all pressed closer together to watch as the mark burnt it’s way into his flesh with a flash and a sizzle of dark magic. 

It was barely larger than a coin but the mark felt heavy as Jack inspected it. Cut so deep into his skin he was sure it would never fade and so dark it felt as if he was looking into oblivion it was an intricate little thing, with swirls and slashes and dots all interlinked to drip with wicked power. This was the only power that stood a chance against the void.

Geoff moved along them, each offering their arm and receiving the mark as well. It was painless and it was quick but it clung to their bones deeper than any wound ever had. It would have been better if there was some form of physical hurt rather than just the writhing of their nervous stomachs.

“As long as this is all happening,” Geoff began, still moving to each man in turn, “these are your entire being.” He pointed back at the obsidian blocks. “Those are your being. You are as tied to them as they are to you.” He finished the men before him and instead brought his own wrist up to be branded, “as long as you have this mark whenever you die… if ever you die, you will fall into the void only for as long as it takes for the king,” he pointed weakly at himself, “to activate your block to bring you back to it. But be careful,” his eyes clouded with darkness as he finished, “nobody knows how long these marks last. It could be for a thousand deaths and it could be for two. It’s magic could last for all eternity or up until the point you enter the portal. I have no idea. But the moment that mark stops being black and turns into just another scar you will not be brought back to that block upon your death. You will be lost to the void… forever.”

Nobody moved. Nobody dared to speak. The finality of Geoff’s words hung over each of their heads as they were all transfixed by their new markings. They were all in deep now and this mark showed that there was no going back. Nothing that they could do would change it. It was almost like an itch that couldn’t be scratched and many fought the desire to carve the thing from their flesh and let crimson take its place. Any shade would be better than this gaping nothing.

Geoff paced back and forth along the line of his fellows like an army’s commander before his soldiers as he began to speak, “today you will all be going into the nether and I know you all appreciate what that means.” There was a sharp inhale along the line at his words and he took that as confirmation to continue, “your task is simple. Somewhere in the land beyond the portal I have left something for each of you to collect. The first to collect his wins and shall be the king.” He faltered to glance over them all once more, “Whether or not you are the right king though is yet to be seen.” He tried to sound comforting as he asked, “are you all ready?”

There were nods and several grunts of affirmation but no words were uttered for fear that the tremor or the crack in their voice would give away what their bodies had tried so hard to hide. Each man was more terrified than the last. 

“You’ll all be ok,” the king tried to reassure them, “you all know that right? No matter what happens in there you’ll wake up out here.”

“Just…” Michael’s voice cracked around the first word and he cleared his throat in an attempt to choke the words out of him, “just make sure you get us back out when we… if we die. Don’t leave us in the void too long.”

Geoff nodded to the man and placed a hand lightly on the furs along his shoulders before he was marching away from them, silently demanding that they follow him. With shaking hands and unsteady legs they did, down corridors and winding stairs left silent and empty and thick with dust. These corridors had been left without use as long as the obsidian it seemed.

Their final point of destination was a room heavily barred and locked by a key that Geoff procured from his innermost pocket. There were no doors the king could not enter after all. He unlocked it and was about to push it open when a voice stopped him.

“Geoff! Stop this! Think about what you’re doing!”

The king’s formerly firm and powerful grip on the door crumbled and his hand began to shake at the sound of the voice.

“Griffon…” he gasped, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to stop this madness!” the queen yelled, glaring down at her husband.

She hurried down the stairs towards their small group, fingers tightly gripped at bunches of her deep blue dress as she did. The group parted for her, allowing her to reach her husband’s side and rest a hand on his shaking arm.

“What am I doing?” she asked incredulously, “what are you doing Geoff? This is insane and you know it!”

“I don’t have a choice,” Geoff mumbled back, not daring to look her in the eye.

“Of course you have a choice,” she whispered soothingly, stroking his arm softly, “you’re the king? If you don’t have a choice who does.”

“It’s out of my hands Griff,” he sighed, holding up his marked arm for her to see, “we’re in the God’s hands now.”

She stared at the mark for a moment, face open in shock until it melded into anger and she smacked him across the back of the head, making his crown fall into his hands. He yelped in pain, glaring at her in outrage only to be scared back down as her eyes bore into him viciously.

“You idiot!” she hissed, hitting him again, “fucking moron! Why didn’t you stop for one second to think about this whole thing? There were so many other options for you to pick! Why did you go and pick this one?”

“There were no other options,” he pressed, desperate for her to understand, “I did think and this was all that was left. The people want nothing more than to see this happen and I have to give it to them or they’ll rebel and we all know that our army can’t stand up against rebels.” he returned the crown to his head to instead use his hands to cup her face gently between them, “but even if we can deal with the rebels there’s still the problem with the portals opening again. If that happens and those beasts spill forth again we’re all as good as dead. People can’t stand against nightmares, maybe one upon a time but not now. We’ve been at peace too long.”

Griffon maintained her glare throughout her husbands rant but only in it’s wake did it slip from her features with a gloomy sigh, “fine…” she shook her head between the king’s hands and leant forward to rest their foreheads together, “but just promise me that you won’t let it go too far… you know what the void does to people.”

Geoff nodded against her and tilted his face up to plant a kiss gently on her brow, running a thumb along her cheek lightly, “I know. I promise.”

Griffon moved away from him to instead turn to survey the rest of the group, “you be careful out there boys. Especially you Gav.”

They all murmured agreements and Gavin blushed brightly, drawing a snicker from Ray. Griffon turned to walk back up the stairs but stopped at the third, instead sitting down to wait. She made it clear with a scowl that she wasn’t about to leave until Geoff came back out which Gavin at least was glad for. He didn’t want Geoff walking back to the throne room alone after what was about to happen.

Geoff pushed open the iron door and the group was met by a blast of warm air that shocked them backwards a step. Within the only light came from the faint purple glow of the portal, radiating heat like a grand furnace, set into it’s clumsily molded obsidian frame like a violet mirror. Even from the doorway they could all feel the magical power bouncing from the carvings in the dark material, chilling them to the bones despite the heat. It’s power drew them all into the room to gather around it, only drawn from their apparent trance when the door slammed shut behind them.

They all glanced across at each other as they stood gathered around it, clueless and hopeless and wanting with everything they had to pass into the purple mist and at the same time never lay eyes upon it again. 

“So…” Ray broke the silence with a nervous laugh, “who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go,” Ryan volunteered, pulling Edgar tighter to him, “just be sure to follow.”

The advisor nodded to them each in turn before he took a deep breath and stepped into the purple haze without another word. Those gathered around the portal all leaned to look around the other side from where he had gone in, expecting him to walk straight through it but Ryan was most certainly gone and they would all only be wasting time hesitating.

“Well,” Michael groaned, leaving the group to take his place before the entrance, “see you fuckers later I guess?”

He shrugged at them all before tossing himself headlong into the portal, vanishing from sight. Jack was next, leaving them without a word, his hands still trembling as he clutched his axe tighter to his chest than was comfortable. Ray followed, leaving only a parting touch on Gavin’s shoulder to soothe the jester till he too was swallowed in the deep purple.

Gavin sighed as he watched his friends leave and knew he had no choice but to follow. He forced a smile out for Geoff before he too had walked through the haze of violet and out into a world of burning and screaming and flames.

The nether was nothing but sound and chaos and torment no matter which way Gavin turned. He was so overwhelmed by the sudden overpowering burst of sensation that he sank to his knees, clamping his hands tightly over his ears to try and block it all out. There was no way that there could be anything in this place meant for him as Geoff had promised. This red land was a place of monsters and death and he needed to get out right then and there. But the only way he could do that was if he got up and began to walk.

His limbs felt too heavy to move at first as he struggled to force himself to his feet but he soon found a rhythm within his trembling legs that propelled him across the burning, ruined landscape. And still all that filled his frantic thoughts were the screams of those trapped in this place, all but drowned out under the shrieks and roars of this hell’s natural inhabitants. He pulled an arrow from the quiver still strapped to his back and left it ready to be fired in his bow. If he was going to be attacked he at least wanted to be prepared to put up a fight.

It was a single thought that halted his progress across the endless fiery land. Where was everyone else? He saw no fur and broadsword, no red cloak and black armour, no calm blue eyes and diamond blue blade, no thick beard and wide axe. All that he saw was flames that were unfamiliar and burnt as toxic as poison and endless red land that he would have to cross. And with a deep sigh, he continued to walk.

***

When Jack entered the red lands he stood alone against the force of the sudden explosion that this land thrust upon him. His axe slid from his hands to thud into the dirt as he stood frozen to the spot with pure terror coursing through every vein in his body. This place was monstrous and he didn’t belong here, he belonged in the forge where the flames burnt but the burn was dull and comforting. Here the burn reminded him less of home and more of hellfire.

He didn’t fully realise he had reclaimed his axe until he was running with the thing bouncing in his hands. The iron burnt to the touch but he barely even noticed it, his hands so used to such a burn that he couldn’t even register it through his slippery grip. His entire body was too focused on forcing him onwards as he sweat and shook and let his legs ache and pulse with the unfamiliar exertion. 

The only way out of this place was to run far and fast and harder than he had ever run in his life. All he had to do was imagine that this was little more than a game of hide and seek or catch. He had always loved playing those games as a kid. Even though he hadn’t been the fastest or the best at hiding he had always loved the thrill of the chase and the bubble of fear in his chest at being chased, drowned out by the giggles of glee that everyone oozed like the sweat dripping from him now.

Only the giggles were gone and only screams remained to let the bubble of fear fill Jack up to brim to overflow in silent sobs as he pushed himself on. 

***

When the advisor entered the burning red of the nether he found that he wasn’t the only one to enter at that point in the land. He was accompanied by a smaller form with a cloak that blended perfectly with the landscape and they both reached for each other as they were greeted by the screams.

Never before had Ryan experienced such sounds of horror and violence and he prayed that he would not be in such a place long enough to hear his own voice contort that way. It seemed that in this land the only way a person wanted to exit was by victory rather than by death. 

“What… the fuck?” the knight gasped beside him, hands still tight over his ears as he stared at the advisor wide eyes, “this is the nether?”

Ryan nodded, his words still lost somewhere in the chaos all around them. He took a tentative step forward and when the ground didn’t give way beneath him took another, the knight close on his heel. Neither had bothered to ready their weapons, both too traumatised by their rude greeting into the foreign landscape to even consider such a thing. They also were yet to remember that they were competing against each other, not working together.

“Do you think we’ll find any of the others?” Ray croaked.

Ryan shrugged, scanning their environment all the same for any sign of familiarity. “Somehow I doubt it. I’m pretty sure we’re all supposed to wind up in different places.”

“Then why didn’t we?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Ryan growled, making the knight flinch, “I didn’t design this stupid test. Maybe this is a part of it. Maybe Jack, Michael and Gavin are all together now too. Maybe it’ll all come down to some massive brawl around the… whatever the fuck it is we’re looking for.”

“I don’t think so,” Ray said slowly and thoughtfully, “by the way Geoff put it it sounds like we’re all looking for different things. Like there’s one specific thing out there for each of us and we’re all supposed to know when it’s for us or whatever…” the knight faded off into a shrug, “I’ve got about as much of an idea as you and if it is some giant fucking fight to the death then you have my permission to cut my fucking head off cause I’m seriously not down with that shit. Friends killing friends just ain’t right.”

The knight almost seemed powerful and legitimate at these words but the new aura was lost as he caught a low hanging stalactite with his shoulder and stumbled backwards. Ryan hurried to steady him as the knight swore violently under his breath.

“What the fuck did I just walk into?” he spat, glaring at his shoes.

“Stalactite,” Ryan answered with a chuckle, maneuvering the knight around it skillfully, “need me to be your eyes?”

Ray huffed gloomily and nodded at the advisor, “fucking magic sword bullshit.”

“You should’ve retired when you had the chance,” Ryan said, smirking teasingly, “god knows I would have taken the chance.”

“If Michael wasn’t quitting I wasn’t quitting,” he shot back stubbornly, “he wasn’t about to let something minor like that knock him out of the fight and neither was I. I’d never be able to live it down if people knew that he was the one that took me out of commission. The king’s personal knight taken out by a savage warrior? Please.”

“I’ll bet some lakeside shack with a view is sounding great right about now though,” the advisor teased.

Ray didn’t have an answer for that.

***

Michael didn’t understand where he was till he felt the flames, so close to him he could feel his flesh sizzle at the heat and threw himself aside, crashing into the red dirt all around him in a heap. Then came the screams and the wails and the crushing horror of his reality clamouring in all around him and he had Mogar brandished at the ready, the runes along it’s icy blue depth glowing brighter than the flames. This magic would protect him. 

But for now Mogar acted as little more than an old man’s cane to help him back onto his feet to better survey his new surroundings. He wasn’t just his own eyes anymore after all, he had to see for more than just himself so he had to see everything. He had to dedicate every detail to memory so that… but no, Michael stood alone. 

He had lost his legs and had to rely on the tattered remnants of what he had left attached to his hips to take him through the nether. His one strong, powerful limb, still capable of running and jumping and carrying him through his life, held back by his other weak, useless limb, still rife with scars deeper than he believed his muscles ran as each part of it had been severed down to the very bone. 

That leg didn’t feel anything anymore, left numb and useless and more often than not he was glad of it. Those scars ran so deep and still shone so red that he was glad the nerves had been severed because if they hadn’t he was fairly sure that the scar would still pain him to that very day.

He lifted Mogar back up at the ready and continued to limp onwards. He had no real chance at winning any competition with any great journey as a part of it but he wasn’t about to just lie down and give up. Staying still would mean he would face the full force of the nether and the constant screams around him told him that was the last thing he wanted to do.

As he wandered the screams were all his thoughts stuck to. Horrible as they were they left his skull swimming with questions. Were they just a trick or were they truly people? If so why were those people here? Was this hell? Were these the souls of people sent to damnation? Or were they travellers like himself, lost in the wasteland to be tormented for all eternity?

***

Gavin had to find his ticket out of the nether, that was all that mattered to him and fueled every fibre of his being even as his muscles screamed for him to stop. He needed to find whatever it was Geoff had had him sent to search for so that he could make the screaming stop echoing through his head, making his skull feel as if it would split in two at any instance.

Tears were cutting tracks through the filth plastering his face now and he didn’t bother to wipe them away even as they took the little moisture he had left in his body. He was just too tired and too beaten to even bother with such a trivial thing as crying anymore.

He didn’t know how long he had been aimlessly walking through the wasteland. Each endless stretch of red and burning had blended into the other to create a meaningless, jumbled mess of nothing that his worn down mind was incapable of translating into distance or time. If there was a sun maybe he could tell but all that was above him was as useful as to mark his place in the red land as the ground beneath him.

The sky above the nether was an impenetrable darkness, acting as a constant reminder of the void that was near him at all times. He wasn’t ready to experience death first hand and he could prevent it from happened if he kept walking. It became a mantra to drive him on. 

_Moving meant finding an exit. Finding an exit meant surviving. Surviving meant he was safe from the void._

The thoughts were disjointed and fragmented like a toddler just learning to read but they kept him moving.

His vision was starting to blur now though and the pain his joints had been replaced by a thick heaviness that made him feel as if he was moving through deep water. Each step seemed to take an eternity and before he could stop himself the jester fell to the dirt, his mouth filled with the stuff as his bow slipped from his grasp.

He coughed and spluttered as the dry substance filled his drier mouth and clawed it from his tongue to prevent himself from choking on it. He reached out a hand to recover his bow but found it just out of his reach, leaving him defenseless in the dirt. He would die like a newborn beast, just learning its place in the world; afraid and alone, no mother to guard over him and no father to love him. Just simple jester Gavin in a world of red and flame… flame.

He held his hands out before him and let the heat bubble up beneath the skin, felt it washing through his fingers down to the tips before he clicked and a spark formed and burst into a flame. He managed to laugh giddily at this, holding the flame close to him as if it provided some form of safety from the monsters that were sure to come for him. The flame was weak and barely more than a candle but it was better than nothing.

Because here came the creatures now, catching the scent of helpless, easy prey they swarmed the jester boy. With faces so torn and terrible that the bones were visible under the hanging green and pink flesh and with swords of dull, dirty gold grown deep into the flesh of what once have must been hooves these creatures surrounded him with their eerie quiet.

Gavin screamed for them to leave but they didn’t listen, barely even seemed to hear and pressed their numbers closer towards the boy. This was the last Gavin could take and flames burst from his hands to spiral around him, clashing against the monster’s chests and knocking several back. The eerie quiet they had brought vanished as the air erupted with angry squeals and growls as they descended upon him feverishly, so starved and furious that Gavin’s flames stood no chance against them all. 

The jester had proven himself a fool as he screamed so terribly. He had forgotten that these beasts were forged in a land of fire. Why should his little flame have any effect on these monsters?

***

Geoff’s heart stopped when he saw the spark. He was on his feet in an instant, silencing Griffon as she watched him move towards the obsidian blocks with bated breath. It was the last block to the right that had sparked and with a jolt Geoff recognised it as Gavin’s.

He was quick to press his hand against the block and shuddered as the icy surge of the void rocked through him as he pulled Gavin back. There was a flash of bright light to blind him before he blinked and the jester had fallen forward off the obsidian towards him. He was on all fours, gasping and sobbing and Geoff crouched beside him, pulling him tight against him for comfort.

“It’s alright,” the king soothed, patting down the other’s hair, “you’re back now. You’re safe.”

“There were so many…” Gavin sobbed, clutching at Geoff in fear that he would vanish at any given second, “death still hurts… even when you come back… so many teeth…”

There was another burst of bright light and a block of gold formed atop each of the other four obsidian blocks, signalling that each other competitor had taken one step closer to victory through Gavin’s loss. Geoff let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.  
So Gavin wasn’t the victor among his chosen five. What a shame, he was sure Gavin would have made a fine king. A little foolish but kind all the same. More than anything he wanted someone kind to take his place on the throne.

“Has anyone else come back?” Gavin breathed weakly into his ear.

Geoff shook his head and Gavin sighed against his neck, his breath stinging with his flames. The jester still burned with his magic but the king didn’t care, pulling him closer still as he tried to comfort him with contact where words couldn’t. He didn’t know how to apologise to this boy for the hell he had surely put him through so he tried to let him know with his embrace.

***

Jack was being followed. He wasn’t sure when he had first noticed it but now it was all he could focus on. Each step he took was echoed by another set directly behind him but he dared not turn to face it for fear of what he might find waiting there.

His breaths came in short, sharp gasps and his legs shook uncontrollably, making him slow till he knew that whatever beast pursued him could surely overtake him and kill him instantly. But still his heart pounded in his chest and his blood flowed through his veins without interruption and he couldn’t help but be perplexed by his pursuer. Surely this would be the perfect opportunity to attack?

With a great mustering of courage Jack turned to face whatever it was that was behind him and was greeted by the mutilated pink and green face of a monster. He gasped at the sight and stumbled backwards in fear. The beast watched him move with confusion and took another step forward so they still stood close together. It blinked at Jack with a face that once have must resembled half man, half pig and the blacksmith remembered reading about such creatures of the nether.

It was a zombie pigman and it was non-hostile unless provoked. Though he’d never heard of one moving solitary like this one. Their kind hunted in packs and one left alone was nothing more than food for the soil from whence they came, unable to stand up to more formidable prey in the constant battle for limited food the creatures of the nether lived. 

This one even seemed curious, it’s eyes roaming over Jack’s body to linger on his thick beard with what could almost be called awe in those beady black eyes. It was endearing almost, watching this beast trying to learn from watching him.

He took another step away from the pigman to try and give the creature a better look at him when the ground was crumbling underneath him and his red reality was filled with motion all around him, whipping his hair around and tugging his axe from his hands.

He only realised he had fallen when he hit the ground.

***

The second spark came not long after the first and Geoff left Gavin where he sat, weakened and traumatised against his obsidian block, to bring back their next member. This time it was the block second from the left: Jack.

Geoff’s stomach sank as he pulled his friend back. His blacksmith had always been such a peaceful man, he’d never wanted to see that twisted and warped by a place like the nether.

Jack spilled forth from the blinding light on his knees just as Gavin did but there was no gasping and sobbing, only silence as the blacksmith stared wide eyed at his own hands beneath him. Another block appeared on the three remaining obsidian as he raised his head slowly to stare at the king.

“I fell…” he whispered.

His voice was so tiny and fragile that Geoff had to bite back tears as he squatted beside him and comforted him as he had comforted Gavin before. 

“It’s ok. You’re out now. You’re safe.”

***

Michael had remembered Jack’s brief tutelage on the nether, recalling that some creatures were hostile and others weren’t, and at first had hoped that this one before him was one of the rare peaceful beasts. He was proven wrong very rapidly though as it shrieked and a giant ball of fire streaked through the air over Michael’s head.

He was quick to raise his sword to battle the creature without stopping to consider the important question of how. This creature hung in the air above him, with a giant overgrown round body dragging long tentacles along behind it from it’s undercarriage. It’s wide, manic eyes stared down at the warrior below it unblinking and it’s mouth was stretched wide in it’s violent scream as it launched another fireball.

This one was much closer than the one that came before it and Michael had to clumsily sidestep to avoid it, his body getting tangled up in itself in the motion. Where were his legs when he needed them? Ray could at least find himself a pair of substandard replacement eyes till they were reunited but there was nobody else fit to be the warrior’s legs. Damn that knight for leaving him here alone!

He was suddenly all too aware of how alone he was facing off against such a monstrous creature, feeling the absence of his partner and his friends at his side all too well as another fireball was sent at him. He blocked this one with his sword, the runes along it’s flat length lighting up with the impact and blasting the fireball back at it’s creator. 

While his weapon’s enchantment didn’t do anything especially fantastical he had never found himself as grateful for the knock-back enchantment woven into it’s blue surface as he watched that fire ball hit the monster square in the face. 

The beast shrieked louder than any shriek before and Michael’s hands left his sword to cover his ears as it fell from the sky, crashing into the ground with an explosion that shook the warrior through to his core.

He shook the ringing from his ears and reclaimed his sword unsteadily, his hands slick with sweat. He at least hoped someone else had heard what he had done. Nobody would believe he had slain such a mighty beast when they were back in the kingdom.

***  
Their first batch of attackers had been childs play to the knight as they moved slowly and ungainly with a walk that reminded him of his missing eyes, somewhere else lost in the red lands. His rapier had cut through them as if they weren’t even there before he turned to aid Ryan.

The advisor was rusty, his swings getting lost as he tried to recall the thousands of techniques he had spent so long honing only to come up with nothing but the last peaceful years of his life. His time beside their drunken king had made him soft and watching the mostly blind man dispose of the beasts he had been trying to conquer with ease made this clearer than any clumsy attack he could muster.

They walked on through the nether in silence, Ryan pointing out obstacles to the knight as the route grew darker and less littered with patches of flames, until a blast rocked the ground beneath them, shocking the knight from his idle daydreams.

“Did you hear that?” he spoke up, turning wildly to face the source of the explosion.

“Hear what?” Ryan asked, returning his eyes to this companion and letting a wave of guilt wash through him that they had ever left him.

“There was an explosion,” Ray explained, “you can’t tell me you didn’t hear that.”

Ryan shrugged and reached out to tug on the knight’s sleeve to urge him forward again, “come on. The pull’s getting stronger.”

“Alright you not hearing massive fucking explosions is one thing,” Ray snapped, a little irritated at the other’s antics, “but talking about this pull or whatever? You really sound like you’re losing it Rye.”

Ryan sighed and pulled at him, this time spurring him back into motion. As crazy as it did sound the pull was there, he could feel it deep within himself urging him to continue moving. It had started as a simple nagging and now had grown into a desperate drive that made him throw caution to the wind as their fast walk transformed into a jog.

Ray was quick to keep up with the man after recovering from the surprise of his sudden increase of speed and only stopped when the man in front of him did, waiting for an answer.

“It’s here.” was all Ryan managed to gasp, his voice enraptured and filled with awe as he walked slowly towards it, “it’s our ticket out of here buddy.”

It was tiny and far in the distance but Ray could still see the faint gleam of something golden amongst the jagged stalagmites. Ryan laughed loudly beside him and the knight could only stare. No, that was too easy. There’d been no fight, surely that wasn’t how this all worked.

Then the dripping and wet smacking began behind them and he understood. He span lithely to face the newcomers, his rapier clutched tightly in his hand as they bore down on them. Burning as brightly as the lava they were made of, dripping and squelching as their bodies unformed and reformed with each sloppy slap against the red dirt these beasts were giants to rival the slime that inhabited their caves back home.

Ryan went to reach for his sword but was stopped by a firm hand on his wrist.

“Go on,” the knight told him, “go get your prize.”

“I’m not about to leave you here,” Ryan refused, tugging his hand from the knight’s grip to reach for his sword again.

“You won’t be,” the knight assured him, “you’ll be saving us both. The moment you win we all get pulled out of this place.”

“Why don’t you go then? Let me hold them off. Or better yet we could just kill them together”

“Rye,” Ray shot him down with a laugh, “no offense but you’re pretty shit with a sword. You’re out of practice and rusty and you’re more likely to get in my way than actually be of any use to me. And if you stay here to fight them off you’ll be killed and I’ll just wind up fighting them all on my own anyway, only then who’s working on getting us out?” he shook his head, “besides, whatever it is that’s down there isn’t meant for me. You’ve been feeling that pull towards it right? That can only mean that it’s meant for you. Now fucking hurry up and go before you lose your chance.”

Ryan nodded and turned and sprinted towards the glint of gold that had drawn them to this place. As he ran he heard the slapping and the sickening slicing of rapier through whatever substance it was that held those creatures together as fighting broke out behind him. There were too many of them for the knight to hold off for too long before he was over run so the advisor didn’t dare hold back as he reached the golden object and fell to his knees beside it.

It was a dagger, gleaming with the brightest gold, nestled amongst several jagged, pointed stalagmites. Ryan reached for it as the sounds of the knight’s screams of pain filled the air, along with the acrid stench of burning flesh. He gagged at the smell and his hand shot back to cover his mouth as his body was rocked with his dry heaves.

But still even as there were screams and the smell of burning there was the sound of smacking and swishing and slicing. The knight was still fighting for him, giving him a chance to get them both out of there and he couldn’t just let it slip by.

Ryan’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and everything was gone.

***

The last three obsidian blocks lit up with a spark and Geoff’s body sagged with relief. It was all over now and one of the three now returned was the king. He hurried to the one in the center first and Michael was standing before him, blinking in confusion with his sword held at the ready. The warrior took in the king standing before him before he lowered his sword slowly.

“You’re back,” Geoff explained with a tired smile, “you’re all back now. It’s over.”

The sword slipped from Michael’s grip and he collapsed onto his back, his entire body quaking with unshed tears and silent laughter as he thanked whatever god was listening that he was home.

Next Geoff moved to the block to the right of Michael and with that same flash the knight was before him, brandishing his sword violently, his eyes wild and crazed with the battle he had been sucked away from. 

Geoff dodged away from his attacks and called out for the man, “Ray!”

The knight’s sword haltered mid swing at the familiar voice and he turned to face his king.

“It’s over. You can stop fighting.”

His sword too fell with a clatter and he was down on his hands and knees with his forehead pressed against the calming chill of the marble floor, such a contrast to the heat he had been dying in.

“You look like you had a fun time,” Michael said weakly with a smile, shifting so he was nearer to the knight.

Ray shuddered and let his body fall sideways, resting himself against the warrior for comfort. “I don’t like fighting without you…” he whispered, curling into a tight ball, “makes me feel like I’m blind.”

“You are blind,” Michael reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder all the same.

“I’m as blind as you are a cripple,” he sniped back, the edges of a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” the warrior sighed, poking him lightly, “but you’re right. I wasn’t a huge fan of fighting without my legs there either.”

A flash lit the room as Geoff pressed his hands to the final block and Ryan rejoined them on his knees, the golden dagger still firmly in his grasp. At his arrival the obsidian behind him had begun to flash and spark brightly until the final two pieces formed and four blocks of gold stood atop it’s dark surface.

“Well I guess that settles it,” Geoff said with a shrug, removing the crown from his head, “we have a new king.”

Ryan couldn’t take his eye away from Geoff as the man leant forward and placed his crown upon the sandy locks of his advisor, a smile that never quite reached his eyes transforming his features.

“All hail the king,” he rose his voice loud enough for all in the room to hear, “long live king Ryan.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
Ryan liked being king. As advisor he had never really had the true power to move around whatever he pleased in his kingdom as little more than chess pieces on his game board. He had always had to shift the king’s mind subtly into his own point of view which had grown more difficult as the man began to notice him doing it. Now every choice was his and he was going to push his kingdom back into shape.

He was to be a lawful king, punishing those that needed to be punished and freeing those that were innocent. Crime rates in the city had never been high but he knew he could push them lower. There were cases of theft, rape and even a handful of cases of flat out murder that had gone untouched by the system of law and he wanted to see these people brought up for justice. He wouldn’t have criminals walking around his city unfettered.

As soon as that crown had realised that it had changed heads the precious crystals worked seamlessly into the tips of the points by whichever ancient blacksmith had crafted it had changed to fit. The former vibrant orange that Geoff had worn shifted to a cool, rich blue to suit him better.

His days became a never ending stream of meetings and paperwork to decide the kingdom’s fate. Less news came of rebellion in the outer townships as for the most part it seemed their passage into and out of the nether had slowed the portal’s opening but not halted it completely.

Ryan was having a tough time trying to focus on the mound of paperwork he was filling out that morning, each word smudging on the page into another till he rubbed viciously at his eyes to try and make sense of it all again. 

None of them had gotten a decent night’s sleep since the nether, not even Geoff that hadn’t been there himself. The new advisor was left sleepless by his guilt at having sent them all there. They could have convinced him it hadn’t been that horrible after all if it hadn’t been for the nightmares. 

It wasn’t unfamiliar now to be woken to the sound of screams coming from the room of the jester’s as Gavin thrashed and fought through another night time horror of bloody teeth ripping into his hot, wet flesh. He was only silenced when his door was thrown open and the warrior was pulling him into his tight embrace, shaking him back to reality and calling his name in a panic. 

Michael didn’t know how to stop Gavin’s nightmares so the least he could do during his own restless evenings was to comfort the jester in their wake. He would slowly run fingers through his hair as he trembled against him, body wracked with great hiccuping sobs and gasps for air as he sweated and burnt through his sheets. The warrior hadn’t been experiencing these night terrors the same as several of his fellows and he supposed he was lucky for that. He hadn’t died down in that red land after all.

To make up for it the warrior made sure he never spent each night alone. Instead after ending up in Gavin’s room every night to soothe him from a nightmare he had taken to sneaking over there after everyone else was asleep and lie there with him to try and aid him into some dreamless sleep. 

It had become a common sight to see the red knight roaming the halls at all hours of the darkened early morning with sluggish footfalls scraping his boots along the ground and his eyes glassy and dazed. Jack had taken it upon himself to learn the pattern of the boy’s slow, methodical march through castle so that when he neared his blacksmith’s quarters he could block his path and instead steer him inside to sit in the oversized armchair by the burnt out fire that his small frame had inhabited every night since their return.

Jack would always try his hardest not to sleep and fail, to be dragged down into a nightmare. Red and screaming and beasts and wind rushing all around him and the wet sound of his own body crumbling and exploding into thousands of splintered little pieces in the dirt. And he would always wake with a yelp to the feeling of a hand resting on his arm and Ray kneeling beside him. And the knight would always squeeze the limb more tightly when he saw that the blacksmith was awake to soothe him back down into restless dreams.

Ryan was sure he looked as beaten down and terrible as the rest of them, with shadows branded deep beneath their eyes and hands always twitching and shaking with exhausted energy. All he wanted to be able to do was collapse forward at his desk or better yet return to the padded cushions of his throne to let sleep take him away. But that would mean to wake up in the red lands that haunted his sleeping mind.

“Ryan,” Geoff spoke up softly, making Ryan jump, “you haven’t moved in a while and it’s kind of freaking me out. Maybe you should go get some sleep.”

Ryan blinked across at the advisor and shook the fog from his mind violently, “no it’s fine. I just spaced out for a second. The day’s only just begun I can’t sleep yet.”

Geoff raised a quizzical eyebrow at the other but shrugged it off, returning his attention to his own mound of paperwork he was helping his king work through. Ryan recovered his abandoned quill and dipped it into his ink pot to settle back into his tedium. Each stroke of an elegant letter soothed him and brought him back to the matter at hand. He was the king now, and the king didn’t get to neglect his duties just because he was a little sleep deprived.

He was interrupted though by a knock on the giant double doors and Jack striding into the throne room. “Someone’s here to see the king,” he informed them, “says they’re a representative of the outer townships or something.”

Ryan sighed and let his quill fall to divert his attention to his blacksmith, “fine. Send them in.”

“Should I send for Michael?” Geoff asked, abandoning his paperwork as well, “this visitor could be a threat.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan waved him away, “I still have my knight and I have you. And if you fall,” he let his hand rest on the hilt of Edgar in place of an answer, the blade never having left his side since the nether. The weight gave him a sense of security no number of guards could.

Geoff nodded his assent and Jack filed out, sending a blade of jealousy stabbing through Ryan. Even though he was the one that wore the crown now everyone still listened to Geoff over him. There was nothing he could do to wipe away all of the years Geoff had spent on the throne as long as the old king stood at his side.

Jack was back before them quickly, a small man with close shaved hair and a worn down old cloak following in his wake. He bowed neatly as he reached the throne, keeping his eyes fixed on Ryan hungrily.

“Long live the king,” he purred, “I assume you are the king by that trinket on your head. Apparently there have been some regime changes rather recently. King Haywood wasn’t it?”

Ryan nodded and gestured for the man to stand, “what business do you have with me?”

The man cleared his throat harshly, “as you no doubt have noticed there are many of your citizens that are less than pleased with how things are operating here in Achievement City. They rather expect more from their king and so many are turning to another.”

“Another?” Ryan asked, “who?”

“I’m afraid I do not know my liege,” the man said with another limp bow, “I am simply relaying rumours I have heard amongst my people. They say this new ruler is from the land beyond the portal.”

Ryan stiffened at the man’s words and his mind was overflowing once more with vivid, darting images of red wastelands and fire. He gulped and cleared his throat to answer the waiting man, “there is nobody living in the land beyond the portal. It is home only to beasts and monsters. Whatever rumours you have heard are lies.”

“Forgive me, my king,” the man said, face twisted in a displeased scowl, “but I don’t believe you are the authority on such matters. You are only a false king after all.”

“Excuse me?” Ryan spat, glaring down at the man. He jabbed a finger at the obsidian blocks, his still gleaming with the four blocks of gold that proved his victory, “I am your king. There is nothing false about it.”

“Until the point that that wall rebuilds itself to hide those obsidian demons from the human gaze you are a mere placeholder,” the man growled back, “the true king is yet to reveal himself.”

Ryan scowled bitterly and waved a hand at the man vindictively, “fuck off before I have you executed.”

The man took his leave without a word, his wake lingering as the throne room was wrapped tightly in the thicket’s of Ryan’s irritation.

“Geoff,” he snapped, whipping his head around to face his advisor, “how will I know if I’m the king or not?”

Geoff shrugged, “there is no way to tell. This whole process is a lot more guessing than solid facts. We’ll know when we know. Either you’re the king or…”

Ryan didn’t like whatever that or pertained.

Weeks dragged on and on into months and still reports came in of the rebellion raging on in the faraway lands. Each report brought news of the uprising growing closer to the capitol and he didn’t have the troops to hold them back.

He had begun to practice with his sword again, stealing away from his elegant king’s quarters in the middle of the night to practice in the training grounds. During his off time he had taken to calling Michael or Ray to him to practice sparring with cracked and splintered wooden swords that children used to train.

Each of them was a formidable foe even without the other by their side and the king was proud enough when he could hold them back for greater lengths of time after each session.

Michael’s strength made his blows all but impossible to parry and Ray’s speed was hard to keep track of till his blade was to your throat. The training grounds where Ryan continued to collect the training swords weren’t a fan of the warrior as his powerful swings had been responsible for many a broken blade and many a deep bruise across the king’s ribs.

“And that’s without magic!” the warrior had proclaimed proudly, unfazed by the idea of injuring his king, “imagine what I would have done to you if I hadn’t held back.”

But Ryan didn’t mind his aching ribs, or the stiffness of his arms from blocking Michael’s powerful swings or the jelly feeling left in his legs from trying to dodge Ray’s swipes again and again, they helped all three sleep better at night. It felt good to use his body as he once had, reminding him that he too had been forged a fighter and had grown to become the scholar. 

And with each sparring session his block grew stronger and his dodges grew faster, even managing to land a blow on Michael that had shocked all three as equally as each other before the warrior had him splayed on his back in a daze. The warrior still seemed to feel the need to apologise profusely for that one, blaming it on “instincts” and “sorry, you surprised me that’s all” and all Ray could do was remind him of how stupid he’d looked lying on his back with a bloody nose.

Geoff had been unbelievably mad at them for that one but he’d healed Ryan’s nose all the same.

“We should fight for real some day,” Michael had suggested to him after a brief fight one day, barely out of breath as he smirked down at the exhausted and beaten king, offering him a hand, “you know, with real weapons. Not these kids toys.”

“You’d rip me apart,” Ryan had gasped, grasping Michael’s outstretched hand and allowing the young warrior to pull him to his feet, “but thanks for the offer.”

“We need to up the difficulty at some point though,” he pressed, patting imaginary dust from the king’s cloak, “you’re not going to be able to learn much more from fighting with the same weapons the same way over and over again. You have to be able to adapt to new opponents and environments. Any real fight you get into probably isn’t going to be in this room.”

“You’d be surprised…” the king grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow, “there are plenty of people that would like to charge in and take my head.”

Something thudded against his chest and he saw his fallen training sword in the hand of the knight. Ray smirked wickedly up at him and scoffed, “let them try.”

They did move up in weapons though, much to the disapproval of their peers, and the clash of the diamond blades of Mogar and Edgar was an impressive sound that echoed through the wide open throne room. 

“Why Edgar?” Michael had asked him mid swing.

Ryan had ducked out of the way, feeling the sharp edge catch as several of his hairs as he went, “it’s a fine name. I had a friend with the name and well...” He took a hack at Michael’s gut. “I guess it’s named in their honor.”

Michael blocked Ryan’s attack with a violent clash of weapon on weapon, “fair enough.”

“Why Mogar?” he asked, backing up to get out of reach of Michael’s wide swing.

“It’s what people in my village used to call me,” he explained simply, continuing to shift back and forth on his good leg, weapon held before him at the ready, “they liked to give people a second name when they decided to become warriors. If I’d kept using it when I arrived here you would have all thought I was some fucking caveman, tribal warrior ape so Geoff gave me a new name and I gave the name to my sword instead.”

“Is it a typical thing for people to name their weapons?” Ray spoke up, diverting both men’s attention away from their disjointed fight.

“Only if it’s a special one,” the warrior told him, “you don’t just name any sword. You name the one you dedicate yourself to. Whichever weapon becomes an extension of yourself deserves a title of its own.”

“Your blade doesn’t have a name,” Ryan asked, letting his sword arm lower as he sensed that their sparring session had become derailed.

Ray shrugged, spinning his obsidian rapier between his fingers expertly, “I never bothered. It seems stupid. Who cares if your sword has a name or not? You’re the only people I’ve met that give a shit.”

Ryan laughed lightly and shook his head, “Geoff’s sword has a name too and Gavin’s bow.”

“What for real?” Ray gaped back.

“Mark Nutt,” Michael announced, “that’s Gavin’s bow. And Geoff’s sword is… uh…”

He looked sheepishly across at the king who finished for him, “Murder Penis.”

Ray choked on the sip from a water jug he had been taking, spraying the floor as he spluttered, “you can’t be serious? Griffon let him do that?”

“I think Griffon suggested it,” Ryan chuckled, “now are we going to spar or not?”

“Alright, alright,” Michael waved down his enthusiasm, grinning, “so eager to have your ass kicked.”

Training became Ryan’s only break from the constant crushing pile of paperwork and responsibility that his new position carried along with it. He couldn’t fathom how his drunken advisor had spent so many years working through it all himself before he had come along to help him. It all felt like so much more work now that he was the one shouldering the responsibility of each decision and each document filled out, not Geoff. 

And always was the looming presence of those four gold blocks, still shining brilliantly in the sunlight atop his obsidian block. Still that wall didn’t close up around it and still it haunted him with the constant question of whether or not he was truly to be ruler.

“I want to fight both of you today,” he had announced after Geoff had left him and Michael had taken his place in the room.

The warrior squinted confusedly up at the king, his expression mimicked in the face of the knight as they waited for some form of an explanation.

“It wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Michael said cockily, moving to sit in Geoff’s abandoned seat, resting his heavy boots on the table.

“What brought this on?” Ray asked, stepping out from his place behind the throne to stand behind the warrior.

“I’ve heard stories about you two before you fought together,” the king explained, taking the seat opposite Michael, “you were rivals right? You used to spar like we do all the time, always so desperate to be better than each other and beat the other down that it got dangerous.”

Ray snorted, “dangerous is one way of putting it. I prefer fucking psychotic.”

“I tried to kill this little shit so many times,” Michael chuckled, shaking his head with exasperated nostalgia at the memories, “and he just wouldn’t fucking die. No matter how hard I hit him those useless fucking wooden swords just wouldn’t take him down.”

“You did break my bones a lot,” the knight conceded, smirking.

“And you made me suffer for it,” the warrior agreed, “I spent more time picking splinters and chunks of wood out of my damn skin than any other person on the planet I’m sure. I hated you so much for that.”

“What made you two work together then?” the king interjected, quick to set them back on course, “arch enemies don’t just become best friends over night.”

“Short and simple, we almost killed each other,” Michael shrugged, “we were so mad and so tired of just watching useless wooden swords bounce off each other that we decided to sneak out and fight each other late at night with real weapons.

“I can’t remember…” the knight said thoughtfully, “did you challenge me or did I challenge you?”

“Dude, who fucking cares?” Michael snickered, “it was a stupid idea. Basically we just had this super massive, aggressive over the top, stupid teenage angst fueled brawl.”

Ryan could see it all unfolding before him as the pair wove the story for him. Michael would have been shorter and skinnier, making Mogar appear more comical than intimidating in his hands and Ray would have had a clean, baby face with two, wide blinking eyes. 

They circled around each other in the sparring ring, their footing sure and their jaws tight with determination, alight from within by their burning hatred for the other. Michael had taken the time to let the glow roll under his skin as his shield activated, knowing that it was pointless but drawing strength from the act anyway. His magic would be useless against the powerful sharpness enchantment that was worked into Ray’s rapier but it couldn’t hurt.

Michael had struck first with a roaring battle cry, slashing through the smaller boy’s body in one swing but he spun round immediately after, despite his eyes telling him he had already won, just in time to block Ray’s stab with his rapier. 

Just as soon as the boy was there he was gone again and Michael backed himself up against the wall, keeping his eyes peeled for any disruption in the still air. And the rapier was swinging through his vision again and he threw himself out of the way to avoid the blade, unable to avoid the hilt though as it crunched against his jaw. 

He lashed out wildly with his own weapon as he fell. He heard the hiss and wet rip of contact but Ray was gone again when he looked back up.

“Coward!” Michael screeched, back on his feet, “is this how you wanna fight me?” he spat at his feet and glared all around him, knowing no matter where the other was hiding his eyes had to have met him at some point around the room. “You’re going to fight me as a ghost rather than as a man? Fucking pussy.”

There was the rapier again and he held Mogar up to block it, bouncing Ray back several steps as the knock-back spell in his blade worked its wonders. The smaller boy bared his teeth at the taller like a wild animal, blood dripping from the tips of his fingers and splattering his boots from the deep gash Mogar had left on his upper arm. It was the same bright red of his cloak and Michael smiled widely at the sight.

Ray vanished again and Michael laughed, “You can’t hide from me anymore!” he held Mogar out before him as a challenge, “I can always spot where you are now.”

His eyes followed the trail of red drops dotting the floor as he knew the other was moving back in for another strike and he held Mogar up lazily to block the rapier that was now visibly shooting for his face. Ray stumbled backwards in surprise and Michael took his opportunity to attack, slashing a wide arc that slid along the other’s belly with a splatter of red.

Ray howled in pain and propelled himself away from the other boy, using his rapier to stabilise himself as he pressed his other hand to the gaping wound that Michael had gifted him. The older boy’s smile stretched further across his cheeks at the sight, it felt good to watch the cause of all of his misery bleed. 

But he was gone again and Michael was growing tired of this game. Surely the younger boy knew he couldn’t hide from him now, especially not when he was leaving such a thick trail of red for him to follow. Each droplet was a glistening breadcrumb in the dirt and he watched as they stopped moving, instead beginning to pool in one place.

Ray flickered back into view and Michael didn’t wait to see what the other boy was planning. Instead he sprinted to the place where the other stood, crashing his blade in a downward arc to the floor in the place the younger stood. But there was no satisfying burst of red, no wet thud of a body hitting the floor; only Michael’s thundering heartbeat in his ears and Mogar firm in his iron grip.

He heard the rapier before he felt it being driven through his thigh and recognised his mistake. His world exploded into an eruption of pure agony and he screamed, collapsing forwards and feeling the blade slicing through his flesh and sinew further as it stayed where it was while he moved. The blade twisted inside him and his screams grew in volume, his blood gushing sticky and warm to cling to his armour before the blade was removed.

Ray stood behind him, panting and bloody. He had waited for the older boy to grow too cocky, too sure of his own victory to charge him and Michael had performed for him beautifully. He glared viciously down at him, pulled his blade free and rapped him across the back of his head with the hilt, sending the older boy sprawling onto his hands and knees pathetically. 

He hadn’t had to push his blade into the boy as deeply as he had, really a simple push with the blade would have been enough to drive it through his flesh, the sharpness enchantment taking care of the rest. But it had felt so good forcing his way through his leg, releasing years of pent up frustration and aggression that their monitored sparring hadn’t been able to diffuse.

He rose his sword to deal the killing blow, his smile bridging on insanity as he stood over the older boy like an executioner. He was just beginning the arc of his murdering swing when Michael was back on his feet and coming at him with a speed Ray hadn’t believed he was capable of. He barely had time to deflect the first blow that would have split him in two but even he wasn’t quick enough to block the second swipe for his head.

The major enchantment of Michael’s sword was knockback but he couldn’t deny how useful the minor flame charm was too as sparks shot from it as it hacked at Ray’s face. The younger boy was thrown backwards and slid across the dirt with a sickening crunch. He didn’t move.

Michael felt the sudden burst of energy sap away and planted Mogar firmly into the ground, using it to support his shaking body as he made his slow way over to the other boy. He had to know whether or not he had killed him before he could be sure how to react.

He was shocked backwards by a determined yell and the rapier swinging wildly in his direction. Ray had flipped himself so he was on his hands and knees, forcing himself forward and swinging his blade the entire time he moved.

“I’ll get you,” he gasped with a trembling voice, “talk to me about playing fucking fair will you?! And then you go and do this?!”

“I don’t…” Michael trailed off, shocked by the strange sight before him.

“Turn the lights back on!” Ray roared, “what sort of bullshit spell is this? You wanted a clean fight!”

Then Michael saw the crimson running thick and fast into the dirt beneath him, sticking clumps of his hair together and staining the hand that kept him grounded as he continued to swing and slash before him. His head swivelled back and forth like a pendulum as he searched for the boy directly in front of him and as he rose his face the cause of the darkness he saw was made clear.

Face so covered with his own blood that there were no distinguishable features left for Michael to identify him by and a cut splitting up the right side of his face to suddenly jerk across to the left with the path his jagged swing had taken. But the thing that would haunt the older boy forever were his eyes, producing red like tears. There was nothing left visible of the whites of his eyes in the wake of the sparks his sword had produced.

All fight left Michael’s body. This battle was over now. 

The adrenaline rush that had sustained him this far left him and he collapsed once more, Mogar slipping from his grasp to instead clutch at the wound in his leg. The pain fell back upon him all at once and he bit his lip to fight back the tears that stung in his eyes. His body sagged as the younger boy continued to huff and swing without seeing.

“That’s enough,” Michael shushed him, “this fight’s over.”

“This fight’s not over until you’re dead,” the other growled. 

He tried to push himself back onto his feet but the wound in his stomach tore at the edges and he fell back down with a yelp, his rapier slipping from his grasp to clutch at it. Michael took the opportunity to remove it from where the other could reach it.

“Moron,” the older sighed, “you’ll just bleed out quicker if you do that.”

Ray glared up at where he thought Michael was sat, several inches to the left and hissed, “why not let me then? Why aren’t you just killing me now?”

“We’ve both already done worse to each other,” he muttered. 

Even then he had noticed the change in his body, feeling where his puppet strings were cut, leaving his impaled leg numb. Ray blinked violently, trying to clear the darkness his vision had been transformed into.

Michael could feel his head swimming as the pool of blood beneath him grew deeper, pulling at him, trying to drag him under the surface. His lids were heavy as he slowly slumped onto his side, staring off into nothing as his thoughts grew clouded and misty.

“Hey Michael.”

He blinked and was brought back to himself as he saw the younger boy lying beside him, soaked that same shade of red he had loved so much. He looked so much smaller now than he had ever been, so much more like a child.

“Am I blind?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry I guess.”

“Me too. You think anyone will come for us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you go get someone?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

“Hey Michael.”

He fought to open his eyes again, not remembering when he had shut them. His whole world was red now.

“I still wanna spar with you if it’s ok… I’ll be a lot slower than I was but I hope I can still be a match for you.”

“I don’t think I can walk anymore man… but we can try I guess.”

“Hey Michael.”

Their voices were barely more than whispers now.

“Yeah.”

Footsteps, yelling voices, panicked shouts.

“We’d make a pretty good pair.”

“Yeah... we would.”

Firm arms wrapped themselves under him and the firmness of the dirt was gone, ripped away for the rocking and bucking of whoever was holding him, sending jolts of pain through his wound.

“That was real dumb kid,” a voice spoke through the haze in his mind, “you could’ve killed each other. You better hope the king is awake.”

Ryan remained quiet as the story came to a close. He couldn’t quite equate the overpowering hatred they had described with the comfortable trust he had witnessed every day.

Michael laughed and ran a hand down his face tiredly, “it’s hard to hate a person when you’re both lying there bleeding out because of a fucking stupid rivalry.”

“It was Jack that found us there,” Ray continued on, writing out an epilogue, “he brought us to Geoff and he healed us as best as he could but it was still a few months before either of us could move and look after ourselves again and longer still before we could fight. Jack kept saying that we didn’t have to, that we could just walk away now and live out the rest of our lives peacefully. He told us that Geoff was even willing to pay for a place for us to stay; somewhere remote and sustainable.”

“But I wasn’t about to fucking back down just because of some scratch an annoying little kid left me with,” the warrior grinned.

“And I wasn’t backing out if he wasn’t backing out,” the knight echoed his enthusiasm, patting him on the shoulder

“But we started training together again and it was slow and it was painful but we figured out ways to work around what we’d taken from each other and tried to fill the gap as best we could where the other couldn’t,” Michael concluded, “we figured out a pattern and something about it clearly impressed Geoff because,” he took a little bow, “voila, here we are.”

“Alright,” Ryan sprang to his feet, invigorated, “show me this pattern then.”

Ray still looked uncertain but Michael nodded his assent, “alright. Get ready then. No magic.”

They stood apart, the two facing the one, and drew their blades slowly. Michael’s eyes never left Ryan as he reached in front of him to tap Mogar against Ray’s rapier, producing a high, clear note that echoed loudly through the room.

“You ready Rye-bread?” the warrior asked, resting an arm on Ray’s shoulder.

Ryan nodded once and Michael was in front of him, their faces practically touching, causing the king’s eyes to widen in shock. His legs were swept out from under him by the knight behind him and he was flat on his back with the tip of his rapier over his forehead and Mogar pressed against his chest. There would have been no surviving that attack.

“I told you no magic,” the king gasped, pushing Mogar off of him so he could sit up.

“We didn’t use magic,” Michael denied, returning his weapon to the holster on his back, “if we had we probably would have killed you.”

They each grabbed the king under an armpit and hoisted him back onto his feet.

“Glad to see all of your time training has really added up to something,” Geoff’s snide voice came from where he stood in the doorway, smirking at the king, “time to get back to work Haywood.”

Ryan didn’t argue, still following the loyalty that had been built into his system after years of service and they both settled down to work. Ray took up his place just out of sight behind them and Michael settled down at the foot of the throne, limbs spread out in undignified relaxation.

The distraction to their work came several hours after they had began yet still far too soon for Ryan’s liking. There was a grand crackle of fireworks and a boy in a creeper skin scarf plowing through the double doors without so much as a warning, followed by a trail of sparks, exploding any colour imaginable.

“‘Ello chums!” Gavin called in a forced accent thicker than his own, skipping and twirling to the throne with great flourishes of his hands, “now why are we all looking so glum today?”

“We’re working,” Ryan shot him down, sceptical eyebrow raised.

“You work too much!” Gavin scoffed, letting the coloured sparks die down around him, “and even when you’re not working you’re training. You need to take more time to relax! Come with me to get some bevs lads! We all know we’ve been a bit on edge lately and there’s no better cure than a couple of drinks at the pub.”

“I’m the king Gavin,” Ryan sighed, putting his paperwork aside all the same, “I can’t just go down to the pub anymore, people want my head. I don’t even drink anyway so what’s the point?”

“Yes but you do play cards. It’ll be fine!” the jester dismissed him, “if you’re really that worried we can make you wear a disguise, leave your crown behind. You’ll have the finest guardians of the whole kingdom at your side the entire time. Even you can’t fault my logic! It’ll be good for you Rye!”

“I have been getting a little too sober since I stopped being king,” Geoff added, seeing the king’s determination waning, “there’s never enough booze on hand for a simple advisor.”

“And I won’t be drinking either,” Ray added, swooping down behind Ryan silently, “you’ll always have at least one sober person looking out for you.”

“Don’t you have faith in your own abilities Rye-bread,” Michael teased, “you were so sure you’re getting better before. Did we spook you?”

Ryan bit his lip at the surge of aggression the warrior sparked within him. He hung his head limply, feeling the last of his resolve slip away and allowed himself to be pulled from his chair, his crown abandoned with his responsibility.

“Not for too long!” he tried to justify to his friends as they pushed him along, “just one game. Don’t want to be there too long that people start recognising me.”

“They’re going to recognise all of us…” Jack joined their group from seemingly out of nowhere, “we aren’t exactly a subtle group. We just have to hope that they’re too drunk to put two and two together and figure out exactly who you are.”

“Please Jack,” Michael said, “have a little faith. We’ll keep the king safe. Sometimes it’s better to be conspicuous instead of inconspicuous.” 

A tall muscled man with furs and a diamond broadsword, a blacksmith with armour built into the black leather and a thick bushy red beard, the former king himself with arms bright with intricate tattoos and a thick mustache curled at the tips, a smaller man with an unmistakable red cloak and pitch black blade, a sandy haired fool with a bright green creeper skin scarf and a jingle to his step despite the absence of any bells and himself… the king. 

Of course. What could go wrong?

Griffon was there to meet them when they reached the bar, her usual elegant gowns lost for a more comfortable shirt and pants ensemble that had earned her several odd looks from passers by, transfixed by the bright tattoos that covered her arms just as they covered her husband’s. 

“Millie’s with Barbara right now, don’t worry,” she assured Geoff at the look he gave her, “now come on boys. First round’s on me.”

The inside of the old bar was warm and deafening, the sudden burst of drunken joviality sending them all back a step upon entering, such a transition into heat and noise drawing up unpleasant memories. But this noise was filled with laughter and blotchy faced drunkards rather than screams and grotesque monsters, so they were quick to abandon their initial shock and take up a table in the corner out of the way.

Griffon ordered them as many drinks as the waiter could carry and waved at the bartender cheerily. The woman waved back, giving her an understanding nod and whispering something to a waiter as he walked by.

“Caiti’s got everything worked out for us,” she explained, “She’ll make sure nobody suspicious gets in without us knowing. She can’t just turn away customers after all but she’ll make sure we’re ready if anyone does come for Ryan. Three taps means she’s seen something suspicious.”

Their drinks arrived, filling the waiter’s arms and sloshing to the floor messily to add to the already soaking mess of the floorboards. Geoff and Gavin cheered at the sight, reaching out eagerly to take their drinks from the poor man and dish them out amongst everyone else.

“To the king!” Jack proclaimed, holding his flagon of ale aloft and winking at Ryan teasingly.

“To the king!” the others echoed.

Ryan tried to shush them down but this only succeeded in them laughing at his attempts to quiet them good naturedly. There was much banging of pints and flagons against each other as they celebrated without cause only to leave the king bewildered. Their first drinks were quickly demolished and Griffon moved to go to order more when Jack pushed her back down.

“I’ll go,” he stammered nervously, adjusting his armour meticulously, “everyone want the same.”

There were cheers of affirmation that transformed into snickers and giggles hidden behind hands as the blacksmith’s back was to them.

“He’s never going to ask her out you know.”

“He’s got to eventually, Geoff. It’s just bloody silly if he doesn’t.”

“The man’s too scared to even look her in the eye. It’s that foreign allure that’s got his panties in a bunch.”

“I’ve got foreign allure. How come people aren’t getting tied up in a right bugger’s muddle over me?”

“Because you’re not attractive. She is.”

Ryan watched the bearded man blush deeply as he spoke to Caiti and couldn’t help the spark of hope he felt at the sight. He stumbled over his words and made a fool of himself but it wasn’t as bad as it must have seemed to the blacksmith because as he stumbled back over to their table and hid his face in his hands she still hadn’t looked away from him, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Am I not attractive?” Gavin squawked, drawing the king’s attention back to their group.

“God no,” Michael shuddered, “have you seen your nose?”

“But Micool,” the jester protested.

“But Micool,” the rest of the group mimicked, leaving the jester dumbfounded and unable to express his irritation as they all dissolved into laughter again.

Drinks came and went and Ray had managed to wrangle up a stray deck of cards from some abandoned table so they sat and played round after round of whatever game came to mind in a dizzy, drunken stupor. 

As each grew more drunk the two left sober watched them transform. Geoff’s laugh grew louder and more easily brought on, even the lamest of jokes bringing tears to his eyes and Gavin’s words grew more incomprehensible as his eyes slipped out of focus. Michael talked louder and more constantly and Jack’s face was such a violent shade of tomato red Ryan considered checking him for a fever.

Griffon had managed to maintain her composure as far as could be seen but every so often she would lose her grip on a card or slip a little off her chair and a ditsy, drunken smile would alter her features to show what was really going on beneath the surface. 

Gavin placed down three of his cards and turned his attention to the man beside him, “ok! Geoff! Would you wipe somebody else’s ass for two thousand gold?”

“Well…” Geoff took a deep swig of his drink as he thought, “whose ass would it be? Would it be like, a pretty lady’s ass or would it be like… Jack’s ass?”

The bearded man giggled at the mention of his name and Michael rested a hand on his head to quiet him, depositing two of his own cards in the pile forming in the center of the table.

“It would just be a stranger, someone you’ve never met before that you just wipe their ass and you get two thousand gold. Would you do it?”

“Well yeah. Would you do it?”

Gavin frowned and reached for his drink, “I don’t think I could do it.”

“What if it was say… Meg Turney’s ass?” Gavin choked on his drink at this. “You always said you thought she was hot. All you have to do is wipe and you get two thousand gold.”

“Oh…” Gavin seemed taken aback, “well… yeah. Write me a cheque.” 

Cards were handed back out again and Geoff sorted his out with a flourish, “Gavin how much would I have to pay you to eat human poop?”

“Ok,” Ryan butted in, “that’s enough of that conversation. How about a change of topic?”

Gavin blinked confusedly at the king before diverting his attention back to his cards with a furrowed brow, “what game are we playing?”

“I have no idea,” Ryan sighed, tossing his handful of cards onto the table, “you morons kept changing the rules.”

There was a tap on his shoulder and Ryan leant in closer as the knight muttered in his ear, “Caiti gave the signal, someone suspicious just came in.”

Ryan tilted his head tentatively to get a view behind them, his eyes falling upon six hooded strangers, swords at their hips.

“They’re armed,” he informed the knight, following their progress up to the bar.

Caiti forced a smile when they reached her and Ryan tried to shift himself closer subtly to hear what they were saying to her. Whatever it was it mustn’t have pleased her as he fake smile vanished instantly and she was scowling at the men.

“They’re asking about you,” Ray told him, leaning forward to try and hear better, “said they heard that the king was spotted coming here.”

“Shit,” Ryan cursed under his breath, suddenly very aware of how conspicuous they all were, “does it sound like they’re going to leave?”

“Ryan…” the knight hissed, “get your sword.”

“What?” the king spluttered, horrified.

“Get Edgar,” the knight tried again, “and get ready to run. I’m pretty sure they’re looking over here though so be subtle about it.”

They were and Ryan could feel their eyes boring into his back as his hands shakily found the hilt of his sword. He watched as the message was passed along the table like a child’s game of Chinese whispers. Ray tapped Michael and nodded to the door to which the warrior turned to whisper in Jack’s ear and so on along the line till Geoff was trying to tap him and whisper in his own ear.

“I know,” Ryan assured him.

Michael’s fingers were glowing lightly as he reached out and pressed them against the king’s forehead. He felt the electric shock pulse through him, making his skin tingle and fizz as the invisible membrane of a shield wrapped itself around his flesh.

“It’s not much,” the warrior conceded, “but it’s something. My duty is to protect the king and all.”

Sparks danced at the tips of Gavin’s fingers with his nervousness and Ryan’s heartbeat grew erratic. They all watched the door to the bar open once more and another, giant of a man enter the establishment, the top of his head brushing the ceiling as he plodded over to join his fellows.

“Aw fuck that,” Geoff squeaked, “that guy’s scary as dicks! There’s no way we’re fighting those guys.”

“Ray how many people can you teleport with you?” Ryan asked, his grip on Edgar growing tighter.

“One,” Ray answered, “two if I push it. I could try three but it’s risky.”

“I’ll take risky,” the king’s eyes finally left the newcomers to instead direct his allies, “take Griffon, Gavin and Jack first then come back for the rest of us.”

The knight nodded and sheathed his blades. He held his hand out across the table and three whose names had been mentioned all reached out to clasp it tightly.

“Now this is probably going to make you puke,” Ray said cockily.

And they were gone, leaving Ryan, Geoff and Michael alone. The men were definitely staring at them now, each more shocked than the last at the sight of four people vanishing into thin air but they soon recovered, marching around tables occupied by jolly people to close in on the three.

Ryan was prepared to draw his sword as they drew nearer and he could see Michael and Geoff in his peripheral vision doing the same, rising from their chairs slowly to prepare for a fight. 

Other people in the bar had noticed what was happening now, halting in their pleasant, raucous conversation and drinking to watch the fight about to unfold. Several even cheered and shouted encouragement, their thirst for bloodshed reducing them to nothing more than shrieking apes.

Edgar was half free from its sheath when the bar was gone from sight, replaced by the throne room and an shocking quiet when there had formerly been such hectic sound. A wave of nausea and dizziness rippled through Ryan and he staggered to the wall, pale and unsteady, using the bricks to hold himself upright. 

Judging by the pale faces staring back at him he wasn’t the only one left feeling that way from the teleportation. Gavin was hunched forward retching in the corner while Griffon rubbed soothing patterns on his back and Jack had his head between his knees as he muttered a long string of obscenities. Geoff joined the blacksmith shakily.

Only the warrior was unaffected by the sudden change in location, already so used to the sensation that he hardly reacted to it at all. He chuckled at the king’s reaction and moved to stand by him.

“Just be grateful it wasn’t worse,” Michael said quietly, as if conspiring, “first couple of times I got teleported Geoff had to thread my skin back together.”

“My magic isn’t meant for teleporting anyone other than myself,” Ray spoke up, flopping down in a desk chair tiredly, “let alone two lots of three people in the span of about twenty seconds. Be grateful you aren’t all in tiny pieces right now.”

The knight pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, groaning.

“You alright?” Ryan asked, surprised by how hoarse his own voice was.

“Like I said,” he sighed, “not meant for more than just me. I’ve gotten used to carrying Michael around but… I just over exerted myself. Need to sleep it off. I should be fine tomorrow.”

“Ryan!” 

The three turned to face the voice and found everyone in the room had their attention directed towards their king.

“What is it?” Ryan asked, scanning their faces for some form of explanation.

They all refused to meet his eye, grim as they let Griffon answer for them, “the gold is gone.”

Ryan faltered, left at a loss for words as his eyes guided him to stand witness to the truth of her words. Five obsidian blocks still sat squarely against the wall side by side yet where before the gleaming tower of gold had valiantly been erected upon his for all to see there was nothing, only the carving of a name in the wall. Beneath his own name on the wall Geoff’s name now read.

“There’s a message too,” Griffon continued, her voice the only sound as the room held its breath, “carved into the wall. ‘Gather by your posts at early dawn’.”

“Does it say why?” Michael inquired.

Griffon shook her head and Geoff snorted vindictively, “if they were going to fuck up the wall they could have at least left a clearer ominous warning.”

“Dawn’s in barely an hour,” Jack reminded them.

“The teleporting was good for one thing at least,” Gavin stammered, face still shiny with perspiration, “we’re all plenty sober for whatever’s coming.”

Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave his shoes as the low hum of conversation filled in the uneasy quiet they had arrived with, brow furrowed. Michael noticed his stiff, almost angry expression and rested a hand on his shoulder, snapping the older man back to the present.

“Hey man I’m sorry it wasn’t you,” he tried to comfort him, “I know you really liked being king.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan shooed his concerns, “I just…” he sighed deeply and smiled sadly at the warrior, “I thought I was doing fine as king. I don’t understand why the obsidian decided I wasn’t right.”

“Hey don’t stress it. You were a great king! What do some fancy magic blocks know about ruling a kingdom?”

A laugh ate its way through his gloomy expression but it couldn’t get through to his core. He had been so sure his rule would be the true one despite what he had been told and yet…

Dawn came quicker than any would have liked and then it was time. They each stood before the obsidian block that bore their name, stone faced and frightened but determined. Whatever happened next was sure to not be an enjoyable experience.

The sun had just stained the sky pink when it began all at once with a low hum and buzz from the blocks. They all watched as Geoff began to glow, silently in awe as the light shone from beneath his skin as brightly as the sun. Then he was gone and they knew that one by one they would be do.

The first thing Geoff was aware was his hair in his face as a mighty wind roared through him, icy and abrasive. He reached up to sweep the dark locks from his eyes and became aware of his own weightlessness. He was falling, plummeting through the clouds like a stone dropped to fall to the ocean depths.

A scream tore from his throat only to be blasted away by the deafening roar of the air hurtling by all around him. The clouds he passed through left him icy cold and soaked to the bone to then be instantly dried and dishevelled again by such aggressive wind. He was going to hit the ground soon enough and he at least had the time to prepare himself for that. God knows where he was going to land though.

The cloud cover finally passed and he was falling through open blue skies with a perfect view of the rolling hills and sweeping plains of the land. The obsidian had taken him far, far from Achievement City. And there below him he saw his point of destination, barely a pin prick in his distant vision, a patch of red at the bottom of a massive pit in the ground. 

It had to be deep enough to go all the way down to bedrock and it removed any situation where he survived this fall from his more hopeful thoughts. He passed beneath the open air and was hurtling by the stone, deeper and deeper underground, passing by confused mobs staring out at him, unsure of whether or not to attack him or just let him continue on. That patch of red got closer and Geoff curled himself into a ball to brace for the impact. 

Contact with the ground didn’t feel like much of anything when it first happened, just a violent rattling and vibration through his bones as his body tried its hardest to hold itself together. He tried to activate his healing at the last second but still his body shattered into itself, his organs crushed and every bone mangled beyond repair. He smashed into the red ground and let his brain spill out to be pecked apart by whatever creature found his body down here. 

His world was an infinite of crunching and snapping and the unimaginable pain of his body shredding. And all it once it wasn’t and he was kneeling before his obsidian block, panting and dripping sweat from the end of his nose. Ryan stood over him with hands firm on the obsidian block he had used to pull him back, looking down at him with worry lining his face.

Jack was next to go and when the sensation of falling made it through his mind he thought he was only dreaming. He was dreaming of the nether again, that was his most frequent nightmare, and all he had to do was wake himself up. He had to force himself out of this red land and back into reality. It wasn’t right that he let something like this haunt him for the rest of his life.

He didn’t realise it wasn’t a dream until he hit the ground and Ryan pulled him back to the throne room.

Michael wasn’t fool enough to think that his shield could grant him the ability to survive such a fall and such fought for his sword against the powerful wind, swinging it out at the ready. As the great gaping chasm down into the earth reached him he propelled his body to the side with a great swipe of Mogar and shot at the walls rushing along either side.

He slammed the diamond blade into the stone and was abruptly stopped. The momentum that had built up diffused over his shoulders and he yelled as he felt the left one be ripped from its socket. If it weren’t for his shield the fall would have taken his arm clean off. 

He bit down on his lip as white hot pain rippled through his shoulder, the arm hanging limply at his side as he dangled still hundreds of miles above the ground. Any fall from this distance would still definitely kill him.

He tugged at Mogar with his one good arm, wiggling the blade free from the sheer rock face awkwardly and with much grunting and fleeting moments when a foot would slip and his life would flash before him in a shock of fear and adrenaline. He was going to need his sword after this point regardless of whether or not he made it down to the red ground below. 

There was a hiss and the world went quiet and his sword was free all at once as he spilt forward onto the throne room floor heavily at the feet of his king. He’d never seen the creeper that killed him.

The knight vanished from beside his newly appeared friend to fall as each had done before him. Only here there was a flaw in the test. Ray figured out what was happening to him the moment he recognised clouds filling his world and the blast of roaring wind. He wasn’t afraid as he saw the red landing spot draw nearer and didn’t bother trying to slow his fall, letting his cloak billow and spin around him. 

When the tips of his boots shook with his impact with the ground he teleported to a point a few inches above and spread his arms wide to slow the momentum his fall had built. He repeated this process again and again till he was falling slow enough to touch the ground unscathed and allowed himself to land, brushing off his hands and staring up at the sky expectantly.

“Well?” he called to a force unseen, “I’m done. I finished your stupid test. Want me to get back out again?”

The sky was gone and the knight was staring at a ceiling. He lowered his gaze and shuddered at the cold look Ryan was giving him, feeling guilt twisting deep in his gut. On his obsidian block stood two pieces of gold, signalling his success over the obstacle the others had all failed to defeat. Yet despite this the jester still vanished, leaving the knight perplexed.

“I did it already…” Ray muttered, suddenly unsure, “how come Gavin still got sent there?”

“Everyone gets a chance,” Michael grumbled beside him, “they have to make sure Gav can’t do it before they just hand the crown over.”

But the jester’s block too shone bright and Ryan pulled him back from the void on his hands and knees, with fire alight down his arms and tears glistening in his wide and frightened eyes. A third block shimmered into life on Ray’s obsidian block and all eyes turned to it.

“Where’s the fourth?” Michael was the one to ask the question.

“The fourth block…” Geoff began awkwardly, “comes from the king’s acceptance at the loss of his crown. Either naturally accepting that it’s time for him to give his crown to someone new or… through being forced to accept that his crown is being given on in the face of his own death.”

Ryan shone in the center of attention as they understood what Geoff’s words entailed. The king didn’t dare meet their eyes as he pulled the crown from his head unsteadily.

“Really Ryan?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow at the other man, “you know you can’t wear that thing forever. You’re not the true king.”

“I like being king…” Ryan murmured shakily, turning the crown over and over in his hands, “I really do… and I feel like I can do good here. Ever since I’ve been in charge I’ve reduced crime rates and lowered taxes and that was only in a few short months. Think of what I could with more. True king or not.”

“Ryan…” Geoff soothed him, “Ray will be a fine king, don’t worry. Just let go of the crown.”

Ryan sighed and tossed the crown to the knight weakly, with tired eyes and aching longing. Yet still no fourth block of gold grew and the king shrugged.

“Guess we’re fighting after all,” he said with a forced attempt at a smile, “would all of you mind excusing Ray and myself while we… take care of this.”

Everyone filed out of the room silently, glancing worriedly at the pair left in the room as the double doors closed behind them, leaving the king and the knight alone.

“I don’t wanna fight you Ryan,” Ray refused, holding the crown out for him.

“We fight every day,” the king argued, pulling Edgar from its sheathe, “why is this any different?”

“Training doesn’t usually end with a fatality.”

Ryan shrugged and spun the sword slowly between his hands, “I’ll come back. We can’t all just carry on with those three gold blocks there and I can’t seem to let go of the crown as hard as I try. If you’ve got some other idea on how to solve this I’m all ears.”

Ray didn’t and the king knew this, watching as the younger man drew his rapier without a word and crossed the room to stand before him at the ready. 

“Now I won’t be holding back,” Ryan warned him, bending his knees into a ready stance, “we finally get a chance to fight properly, I’m not about to miss that opportunity even if the circumstances are less than ideal. So get ready.”

The king tightened his grip on his blade and planted his feet firmly to the ground, letting the chill beneath his skin bubble up to be at the ready for his use. This ice burnt behind his hardened blue eyes as he stared Ray down, each waiting for the other to strike first.

They began their battlers dance, pacing around one another in a slow rotation before sidestepping and carefully heading back the other way. The whole time their eyes remained fixed upon one anothers, their grips on their weapons stronger than iron. 

In the end it was Ray that struck first, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat and aiming a deadly blow at the king’s head. Edgar was up in barely enough time to save himself and he was forced back a step.

The knight had been holding out on him. Ryan was painfully aware of this as their swords clashed with bursts of sparks and crashes that would echo through the halls for years to come. That glimpse he had gotten when he had fought him and the warrior together had been as close as he had gotten to actually fighting the man. These swings and stabs were much different from what he had trained against and he was left staggering back, maneuvering Edgar as quickly as he could to block attacks that shot towards him from every direction.

The king’s arms began to ache with the constant shifting of the sword from place to place to block the endless onslaught as Ray shot all around him. He was offered no rest between each attack to regather his strength. His breathing came in short gasps and sweat ran trails down his face only to turn to ice from contact with his skin.

In the end he was grateful that it was only a brief fight, ending when the rapier slid between his armour and deep within his chest with a spray of blood and a hot rush of air slipping between his lips at the sensation. His legs gave way beneath him and the knight hurried to catch him and lower him gently to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” the knight whispered, patting him on the cheek, “you should pass on soon enough and I’ll wake you up over there. Do you think you’ll be ok when I do?”

“Yeah,” Ryan croaked and it wasn’t entirely a lie. He was going to pine for the crown long after it had remade itself on Ray’s head but he could see himself coming to accept it eventually. Those jewels atop the crown would look good growing red after all.

Red. That was all that filled his vision now, pooling beneath him, staining his skin and dripping from the knight still crouched beside him as he remained to bid the dying king safe passage to rebirth. It really was a nice colour.

Ray allowed himself to un-tense as he heard the final death rattle than meant that Ryan had finally slipped away. He felt the low hum of energy from the obsidian as his final block of gold formed and the body below him crumbled and disintegrated into dust as he hurried to press his hands to the obsidian block and reform the real thing from the block he and Geoff shared.

The knight’s clothes still dripped to of the man’s blood he knelt in as he listened to the former king gasp hungrily at the air his lungs had just lost. The vile metallic stench of the warm red clung to Ray, making his stomach churn. Despite the sounds of the man shifting beside him the knight had still killed him and it left him heavy with guilt.

Something knocked against the back of the his head and he turned to see Michael smirking down at him. He roughly placed the crown in his hands down amongst Ray’s thick dark hair before leaning back to inspect his handiwork. Just as Ryan had known the gems atop the points shifted from the deep blue to the rich red of roses.

“You’re king now genius,” the warrior teased, “you have to at least look like it even if you’re going to do a terrible job.”

Ray scowled at him and the warrior pulled him back onto his feet and away from Ryan, also passing the blood staining the carpet. They could deal with explaining that mess to the maid in the morning but for now it was time for them to catch what little sleep they could before they had to tend to the day’s activities. 

They had another crowning to attend after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So three weeks later I'm finally back home and here with a new chapter. Hope you like it and if you do be sure to let me know! Next chapter shouldn't be too long away compared to the gap between these two chapters so stay tuned for that! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Another chapter gone and I'm gonna be perfectly honest I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this one... like I am but getting there will be difficult. I should have another chapter eventually so just bear with me I suppose... xx


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